My little kitties
My little kitties. They are all I have. They are more than life itself. Two of them have taken ill. In some way I don't understand. One, my Inky, is old and has ideopathic urinary tract disease and a thyroid condition. His T4 count is over 10. I give him transdermal Tapazol inside his ears twice a day. This has made him lethargic. He is 17 or 18 years old. He is old. He is very very old. But he still greets me at the door everyday. Somehow, someway he makes his way to the door to greet me. At least I think he is greeting me. He may just be trying to find a loophole to escape. Get out of my apartment, back to the life he led before, in Eagle Rock. They are all inside cats now. They are fat. In some cases, hugely, gigantically fat. Particularly the youngest. The female. Kitty. She is portly and rubinesque. I came home two days ago and she had injured her front left paw. I don't know how she did this. I went into panic anxiety mode and fear and hopelessness. I prayed. The right course of action came to me. I let go. I had no money. But people offered, in their own small way, to help. To try and capture this young lady is almost impossible. She is feral. I can touch her these days and pet her, but when she tweeks, it's under the bed for days. That's where she is now. She has been under the bed for two days now.
But, the good news, is that Inky has stopped peeing on the carpet. Kitty can walk on her paw, although she is still under the bed. Sahaja, my middle cat, is the caretaker. He licks everybody. And we lick him back.
Things are okay today. I hope my head believes that.